


In Harrow's Hollow

by sageness



Series: Dreaming the Mythic Age [8]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Canon - TV, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-23
Updated: 2004-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shattered doesn't happen. This does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Harrow's Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Content some readers may find disturbing. Thanks to HappyMinion and Wanderlustlover for the betas.

Lex was in his office at the Manor, meticulously signing off on a stack of contracts and approvals just in time for them to be lost in the pre-holiday business jumble. The faxes would go in a few minutes. Then the FedEx guy would whisk the hardcopies away with a cheerful reminder that, naturally, there would be no delivery on Thanksgiving Day. Then, tomorrow, the world would hiccup as the planet's sole remaining superpower took a national holiday that almost nobody cared about.

Lex would shrug and wish the courier a pleasant day anyway. The holiday itself meant little to him. He would be on call for emergencies at both companies, and there would be two separate but sizable piles of work to be dealt with on Friday and Monday. But this year, oddly enough, there was one thing he was thankful for. This year, for the first time since childhood, Lex actually had plans for Thanksgiving.

An hour later, he still sat at his desk, swirling his coffee and mentally preparing himself for a lunchtime conference call with LuthorCorp's unofficial head of corporate espionage. C.D. Hughes was as rabidly devoted to his father as the most tenured members of Lionel's private staff. Lex found every exchange with him to be an excruciating melee within the present father-son battle, which was again only the tiniest microcosm of the larger strategic war. Hughes was yet another goad, one more of Lionel's endless ordeals to prove him his father's son. All to train him or break him trying.

Lex knew Hughes was incensed that the LexCorp custodianship issues were already sorted out, a mere three months after his return from the island. Apparently he hadn't dreamed that Gabe and the group who'd helped spearhead the buy-out would hold off both Lionel and Helen for as long as they did. They had bought vital time and prevented considerable havoc, even as Helen was fighting tooth and nail for the death certificate that would have made her the sole heir to his fortune. It wasn't a surprise that she'd lost the cat and mouse game with his father; but it hadn't endeared her to anyone at LexCorp when she and Lionel announced their intentions to return the Smallville plant to the LuthorCorp fold.

At LexCorp in his absence, interoffice memos read like the play-by-play to a particularly acrimonious Sharks game. His employee-shareholders were invested heart, soul, and pocketbook, and adamantly refused to cooperate with the takeover. Lex wanted, on some level, to let himself feel honored by the perceived show of loyalty—but in the end, he knew it was never about him. It was merely an opportunity for them to get some of their own back from his dad. Maybe someday Lex would earn their allegiance in his own right, but the entrenched anti-Luthor hostility revealed in those memos cut alarmingly close to the bone.

The delicious irony was that Lex's vice presidency at LuthorCorp was going disturbingly well. At least, his father was disturbed enough to direct Hughes to harass him; and that _was_ the point, after all. Chess, fencing, the art of management...it was all the same game he'd learned from childhood: make a plan, implement the plan, adapt to unforeseen obstacles, and always, always keep your opponent off balance. The trouble with the game was that Lex saw it too clearly. He was good at it, but more and more he found himself gritting his teeth, revolted by his father's hand.

Lex had already taken the extended tour of the lowest depths of human nature. He knew that most people never reached this level of understanding, and the few who did were, by and large, far too old to make any use of it. Need, manipulation, and power plays were simply ways of doing business. Exploitation was a judgment call, and the difference between success and failure lay mostly in how one spun the press. Lex knew people would do anything if they _felt_ good about it, and that, beyond any forecast or cycle, was the force that drove profit in a market economy.

In the end, the bottom line ruled. But to optimize profits, Lex needed the world, meaning Wall Street, to feel good about him...and to make the world feel good about him, he had to make sure his employees felt good about him. To do that, it was his responsibility to feel good about them. And to do _that_, he had to feel good about himself. So as long as Lex had his confidence, he could accomplish anything.

But again, that was the trouble with seeing through the game. The pleasure of winning was lost to tallying percentage points. And where was the challenge in that?

An alien concept was creeping into Lex's mind. It could be that happiness wasn't about the bottom line anymore, or the off-chance favorable word from his father, or even about winning in the first place. He was living with so much stress, when (honestly) all he wanted was to spend time with the people he was beginning to dare to (possibly) love...and then maybe sneak in some quality time at the lab.

It was hard for Lex to care when Hughes finally called, twenty minutes late, to rake him roughshod over the LuthorCorp coals.

  


* * *

Mid-afternoon light shimmered through the stained glass, refracting a complex geometry of red and blue blocks onto the diamond parquet floor. Lex didn't notice. He was deeply immersed in a new R&amp;D update on cutting edge biochem breakthroughs when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he took a deep breath and let it ring twice more before answering. "Dad."

"Hello, son." Lionel's voice was warm and enveloping, with a bare hint of victory. In Lex's experience, always a bad sign.

"What can I do for you?" Lex replied, keeping his tone as businesslike as possible.

"You left early."

"There was work to be done here," he answered smoothly. It wasn't untrue, technically, and it mostly covered the foul aftertaste of last night's benefit gala. Lionel posturing, pretending fatherly pride; Lex allowing himself to be flaunted like a trick pony, pretending he'd come to his obediently filial senses after the lost-at-sea / foiled-takeover drama. A PR coup, naturally. Nauseating, too.

"I wanted to know when to expect you tomorrow."

"Expect me?" he asked. "I'm confused."

"Thanksgiving dinner, Lex. We were making new start, remember?" Lionel's effusiveness held until the last note, then gave way to a growl.

"Dad, we haven't had Thanksgiving together since Mom was alive," he replied. "And even then, you were usually traveling."

"I thought you wanted us to try to be a family again, son. If that's not the case...." Whatever side-match of the game this was, Lionel was playing it to the hilt.

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

Lex rolled his eyes. "Regretfully, I already have plans."

"Break them. I want to see you." Steely now, testing him.

Lex matched his father's tone. "I said, I already have plans." It wasn't worth arguing that they'd just spent forty-eight hours together with the BOD, heatedly debating (other, non-LexCorp) candidates for hostile takeover.

"You can't fit your father into your busy schedule?"

Lex shut his eyes and wondered why that tone of voice still affected him. He reminded himself that shame was merely a ploy, and refrained from listing every childhood birthday and holiday made normal by Lionel's absence. "Not tomorrow, no."

Lionel dragged out the silence. "That isn't very much in keeping with the spirit of the holiday, Lex."

"I disagree," he said coolly.

"Oh really. And just what are these plans of yours that are so much more important? And don't tell me you'll be working. I know you better than that."

"I'll be on call, of course. But in answer to your question, the Kents invited me to dinner." Lex tried to make it sound flippant.

"Ah, yes, I should have known. And as their great benefactor, you are, naturally, required to oblige them."

Lex grinned openly, glad his father wasn't there to see it. "You really can't stand to see them do so well, can you?"

"Lex, I don't know what you're talking about. We both know they don't have two nickels to rub together."

"How deliberately obtuse of you."

"So, you can't bring yourself to fly to Metropolis and spend even part of the day with your father." Lionel was actually whining. If Lex were supposed to feel guilt-ridden, it wasn't working.

"I'm afraid not, Dad."

"Perhaps I'll come pay you and the Kents a visit, then. I certainly have nothing better to do...and it's been a while since I was out that way."

"No." This was more serious than he'd realized if Lionel were threatening to make the trip personally. Lex tried to be conciliatory. "Don't trouble yourself, please. I can come to the city this weekend. We could do a late Thanksgiving on Saturday."

"Ah, son. That's not nearly as much fun. Isn't the point of a holiday to celebrate the _day_?" Lionel paused for effect, then continued sharply, "Besides, I'm due in London this weekend."

"Dad..."

"Son." The word hung in the air, inescapable.

Lex caved and hated himself for it. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, sinking back in his chair.

"Just fit me in, Lex. A Thanksgiving lunch. You can take the helicopter back in time for dinner with the peasantry."

"I'll see if I can arrange it," he said, and shut his eyes against the queasiness in his stomach.

"I knew you'd find a way."

Lex could hear the victorious smirk on his father's face. His movements didn't register; before he realized it, he'd thumbed the phone off and flung it across the room. It hit the stone wall and broke into pieces.

"Thomas!" Lex barked into the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Luthor."

"In the gym. Ten minutes. Put on a gi."

"Yes, sir."

Lex stormed out of his office and headed to his suite. If he didn't burn this out of his system now, he was liable to do something a lot more reckless than break another phone. Not that he particularly cared at this point. His father was.... He couldn't finish the thought without wanting to punch the wall, and punching these walls would smash his knuckles. Lex was smarter than that, most of the time.

  


* * *

Clothes changed, Lex jogged upstairs and into the north wing. Thomas was waiting, dressed in a white gi and black hakama; he was kneeling on the mat, eyes shut and breathing steady. The sturdy wooden altar mounted on the wall bore a fresh water lily. A new stick of aloeswood was burning. Thomas bowed to the altar, or perhaps the man in the painting above it, and stood. He wasn't tall and he didn't look his strength, but Lex knew that under the gi, he was nothing but raw power.

They warmed up for several minutes, then bowed to each other in the center of the room. Lex flew at him. It was sloppy and Thomas flung him easily across the mat. Lex barely managed to roll correctly, which made it all even more infuriating. He attacked again and spun into the other wall. He attacked again and landed flat on his back. Again, and he rolled into the wall bearing the weapons rack. The bokken were tantalizing, but he knew better. He was too angry, too close to losing control. Wooden swords would kill just as dead as steel...and his father was not worth killing for. And definitely not worth accidentally killing himself.

They sparred for twenty minutes until they were both dripping with sweat. After a brief water break, Thomas led him through their regular deep breathing routine, pulling Lex back down to his center. The next half hour, Lex was calmer, more exact, and managed to throw Thomas on at least a third of his attempts. He couldn't describe it, but something about a highly focused adrenaline high always felt amazingly good. Somewhere inside it, being flung across the mat began to feel like flying. It was...something beyond words. Happily exhausted, he bowed to signal the end. Thomas bowed back, smiling.

"Thanks," Lex said, rubbing his sore wrists.

"You did well today, after you calmed down."

"My father," he shrugged, stretching through his cool-down.

Thomas nodded. "Some parts of us will always be ten years old when it comes to our parents."

"Ancient Buddhist wisdom?" Lex grinned, still soaring.

"No." Thomas laughed, sending new runnels of sweat down his throat to the exposed vee of his chest. There was something about the line where the white fabric met the olive skin, where shapeless cotton revealed solid muscle. The contrasts. Lex had a thing for contrasts. "Just experience."

Lex caught his eye and held it. "Come with me," he said, licking his lip. Thomas just smiled and let him lead them next door.

The water was hot in an instant, and Lex was pulling at their drawstrings and peeling away sweat-soaked cotton. Thomas was helping, broad hands always in the right places, pushing and sliding, until they were both naked and stepping into the steaming shower.

Thomas found the soap first and set to lathering with all the intense focus he used to throw an opponent across a room. He pushed Lex back out of the spray, soapy brown hands sliding over pale chest and arms. His fingers kneaded Lex's muscles, rubbing into his pecs and lats, gliding up to work his fingers through the tension in his shoulders, thumbs cradling his neck in a wet caress.

Lex was moaning softly, hands on Thomas' ass, pulling him closer, so their cocks slid together in the streaming suds. Thomas soaped Lex's back while they ground against each other, digging fingers deep into his deltoids, pushing down into his glutes, and sliding between, tracing a slippery line down from the small of his back to his perineum, over and over.

Lex's hands were everywhere he could reach, gripping his shoulders, twisting his nipples, cupping the heads of their cocks in his palm. His mouth found Thomas' neck, wet and still a little salty. He tasted again, licking his throat, shoulder, ear, wanting salt skin on his tongue, trying to bend his mouth to so much more.

Thomas held them together though, fingers tracing and tracing, teasing until Lex stretched an arm out to grab the bottle of conditioner from one of the alcoves in the tile, pressing it into Thomas' chest. "Out in the drawer by the sink, there's—" Thomas began, but Lex shook his head, squeezing their cocks together, stopping his words with a gasp.

"Don't even think about moving." Lex leaned into him, rubbing his lips over his face, down, to take the shell of his ear in his teeth, grazing, and Thomas was massaging again, spreading him apart, a bit of wet cold, and there...in him, at last.

Lex was moaning, adjusting to the pressure, so different while standing, and now Thomas had dropped to his knees, was guiding Lex's cock into his mouth. A finger nudged in again, the new leverage taking his breath away, sliding faster. Lex held onto a shoulder and the wall, doing his best to stay on his feet.

Thomas was pumping deeper into his ass, stretching, making room for another. Lex wasn't sure he could last that long, the mouth was too intense, taking him, but controlling the pleasure. Lex was so close. Then Thomas slowed, and brushed his balls down gently to bring him back from the edge, while slipping a second finger in at almost the same moment. It was...amazing, infuriating, blinding.

Lex rode the long thrusts, head thrown back, grunting louder each time a finger rubbed past his prostate. And the mouth was back on him in earnest now. He was nearly there, nearly—he fisted black hair in his pale hands, fucking Thomas' mouth, needing to be as deep into his throat as Thomas was in his ass. Soft wet hair, hot wet mouth.

He closed his eyes and saw creamy skin and green eyes looking up at him, mouth devouring. Yes, Clark, that—_that_. Thomas curled his fingers in and swallowed him deep in the same motion, and Lex came, groaning and shaking against the wall.

Thomas sat back, watching Lex grasp at the tile shelves for purchase. "That was...." The words were lost in a low moan as he stumbled fully into the warm spray.

Thomas smiled. "You needed it."

"Yeah." Lex shivered in the wet heat and looked down at him, sitting lean and graceful on the tile, erection pressing hard against his tan belly. Lowering himself to the floor, Lex drew his fingers up Thomas' thighs, nuzzling his lips against his balls, then licked a heavy stripe up his shaft. "Now." Hunger sparked in his eyes. "You."

  


* * *

Dressed again in a fresh black pullover and slacks, Lex returned to his office. The broken cell phone was gone, and an identical replacement lay on his desk, the display indicating several missed calls. Lex scrolled through the numbers. Most were from his father, with one each from his Metropolis secretary, Gabe Sullivan, and Martha Kent. His thumb was dialing voice mail when he heard someone above him clear their throat.

Lionel was standing in the gallery, striking a careless pose against the railing in the cold, late afternoon light.

"Lex. You've been avoiding me."

"What are you doing here?" Lex's free hand opened and closed on air.

"Trying to finish our conversation, son; but alas," Lionel gestured dramatically, "you were indisposed."

All the released tension flooded back into Lex's body as his father descended the staircase. A voice in the back of his mind was in fits of laughter over the crude stage direction. If only it weren't actually happening. "So, how was your flight?" Lex knew it was sarcastic. He didn't care.

"Chilly. But possibly warmer than your reception."

"I was in the gym. Were you waiting long?"

"Not long. Weight training?" Lionel asked, casually arranging himself on the leather sofa.

"Aikido."

"With your butler, no doubt."

"He's a black belt."

"I'm sure he's very talented."

"Your point?"

Lionel raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one who fucks his bodyguards, son. At least not the male ones."

Lex was unfazed. "Do you really want to open that can of worms, Dad?"

"That's not why I'm here, Lex, no."

Lex leaned back against his desk. "I told you I had plans. I told you that I would try to arrange things to fly in tomorrow. And now you're sitting in my house making crude remarks." Lex paused. "How is this supposed to endear me to the notion of Thanksgiving lunch?"

"Well, you can always go running to Martha Kent afterwards. I'm sure she'd be happy to let you tie yourself to her apron strings."

"I see you're still angry she quit."

"Bah...why are we talking about this nonsense?"

Lex shrugged. "You brought it up, Dad."

Lionel scratched his beard gently. "I understand that you're looking for a substitute mother, son."

"You are not going to say a word to me about my mother."

"Lex." Lionel paused, then looked up. "Lillian was my wife. I loved her."

"You never showed her any respect."

"You're certainly one to talk about respect."

"Get out of my house."

Lionel stood, but didn't move toward the door. "You and I are the last of our family. I did not raise you to throw away our name. I raised you to rule the world, and you will, mark my words."

"You flew here to warn me that eating dinner with the Kents threatens your plans for my world domination?" Lex allowed himself a single, controlled laugh. "I see."

Lionel shoved his fists into his coat and paced a slow circle around the sofa. Softly he said, "I know how much it affected you not to have a mother figure growing up."

"The choice to send Pamela away was all yours," Lex answered, his face smooth as stone.

Lionel stopped in his tracks, his silent look betraying acknowledgment. "You wouldn't be as strong as you are today if you'd had her there coddling you."

Lex hid his own clenched fists in his pockets. When he spoke, it came out like ice. "I believe I told you to leave."

"You don't need the Kents." Lionel's voice was rising. "You need _me_."

Lex was on his father in an instant, lunging, dipping forward to twist him into a throw; and then Lex froze. With a smile on his lips, he lightly patted Lionel's Armani-clad biceps. "Make me call security, Dad. Please."

Lionel didn't flinch. "I'll see you tomorrow at noon, son. Don't be late," he added, then spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

Lex slammed the doors after him, hard enough to damage the optics of the security system built into the sill. He stalked to the bar and, with unsteady hands, poured himself the evening's first very full glass of scotch.

  


* * *

It wasn't right. Nobody but his father would expect such a thing. _Break your plans. For me. On my whim_. Because heaven forbid he have a real moment of happiness. The belligerence, and not even because he was his father, but because he was _Lionel Luthor_. It had absolutely nothing to do with family. Jonathan Kent would never make a demand like that on Clark. He might frown and grumble, but he respected his son's life enough to let him live it.

It was too much like boarding school. He used to send a car to pull Lex out of school on random days that he was in area. They would have a meal. Lionel would lecture him, beat him at speed chess, ridicule Lex's taste based on whatever miniscule opinion he managed to trick him into revealing, and then send him back, helpless and fuming, like...a scorched omelet at the tiny hole in the wall diner he used to hide in. Lex the scorched omelet, scourge on his father's life. Or was that the other way around? Lex didn't know anymore. Maybe they were both broken beyond repair. Maybe they deserved each other. Or not. At least he wasn't throwing things tonight. He'd broken the phone earlier. That was it. His dad wasn't worth the cost of replacing the crystal again. Clark, definitely. Lionel, not a fucking chance.

The bright spot was he would get to see Clark tomorrow. That was going to make up for everything. Last Sunday, dinner had been nothing but comedy once they'd all relaxed to his presence. Every story's punchline came back to threatening to make Lex muck the stalls again. And then he'd volunteered for it, which made them all laugh harder; and that made it so much more difficult for him to leave at the end of the evening. He'd wanted to stay, if only to sleep in the little bed in the tiny guestroom on the other side of the wall from Clark. But he didn't ask. He didn't want to ruin a good night.

And it was far more than just a good night. It was everything he'd always wanted from a family dinner and never had. Except for the slight issue of his mind-bending lust over Clark. But aside from that, it was almost like he belonged. And that was something he hadn't truly felt since childhood, before the meteor shower, when he still spent as much time as he could at his mother's side.

He was going to see Clark tomorrow, and he was sure now that he'd been flirting back. He'd caught him looking three separate times the other day. And it wasn't the awkward comfort of their talk the other week. This was hunger. Unless he'd dreamed it. But, well, he _had_ dreamed it, but this was finally real.

Maybe he'd skip the helicopter ride. Maybe the weather would turn foul. Maybe he'd just call and tell his dad to fuck off. Except. That was also telling the boss to fuck off now, and LexCorp was never going to get anywhere without the connections he was making at LuthorCorp. He couldn't afford to confuse his priorities; there was nothing else to do but make it a goddamned holiday business lunch.

  


* * *

"Sir? Sir? Wake up, Mr. Luthor."

He didn't know he'd fallen asleep. Strong arms were enfolding him, pulling him up and wiping his face. The world was spinning and something smelled foul. He couldn't focus his vision, so he stopped trying. Words came and went, slipping like sutures through his consciousness.

"Can you hand me another towel from the bar? There's vomit everywhere."

"Here you go. How much do you think he had?"

"Looks like most of the bottle."

Soft fingers took his pulse, and his brain registered familiar people. He was still at home, that was a relief. Linda the housekeeper. Thomas the butler, and wasn't that a stupid job title for him. Thomas wasn't even in charge of the wine cellar. That was Linda's job. He should change it. If he ever sobered up.

"Shouldn't he have alcohol poisoning?"

"For a normal person, yes, but he has an odd metabolism. He'll be all right. He's just a mess right now."

"Should we put him in the shower?" Lex felt them scraping at the side of his scalp and neck. It made his face twitch.

"No, I think the washcloth will do for now. He'd be more trouble to bathe right now than if we just wait til morning. Wouldn't want him to slip and crack his skull."

"Got it."

"Can you lift him?"

"Of course."

Lex tried to protest that he could walk, but the words came out as a slurred moan. The world lurched, his stomach turned over, and he blacked out again.

  


* * *

In the dream, Lex couldn't move. He was lying in bed in a room that was curiously dimmed. Not like the heavy drapes in his room at home in Metropolis. This light was bluer and higher up on the wall. It was almost like when he and Pamela and sometimes Daddy went to see Mommy when she was sick. In the hospital. But that meant. Oh no.

He tried again to sit up, but he couldn't move. He couldn't move a muscle. He could barely move his lips to scream for help. _Mommy_!! But there was nothing but a dim rattle in his throat, almost too quiet for even him to hear. He was stuck there. Why couldn't he move?! His mind raced. Somebody was doing something. It was like his daddy warned him, wasn't it? Some bad man trying to hurt his daddy by stealing him?

Maybe they were going to do things. Like in that James Bond movie where the laser beam almost cuts him in half, starting from down where it hurts. But he wasn't tied down, was he? He didn't feel ropes. He just couldn't move and he didn't know why and nothing made sense and now he was crying where he lay, and the tears were falling into his ears and felt all yucky, but he couldn't move to wipe them away. _Mommy_!!! But still, no sound came out. And lying motionless and so terrified, he was ... oh no, no. He was going to get in trouble. Where was Pamela? He needed Pamela, now. Now! She would make it better. She would hide the wet pajamas for him. _Pamela_!!! Please, please, come before Daddy finds out. Please?

No one came.

  


* * *

"Alexander? It's time for your medicine." He felt a small plastic cup press against his lips. "Drink up like a good boy."

It was brighter in the room, now. He could see a nurse with blonde hair and a stern face. She was close, but she seemed very far away. And...uh oh. She saw he was wet. Her chest heaved with a sigh as she opened a wardrobe and took out new pajama pants and a pair of Spider-man Underoos. When she returned to the bed, he burst into tears.

"Oh, come on now. It's not that bad, Alexander, you're just sick. You'll be well in no time."

He couldn't make words come. All he could do was lie there and cry, while she pulled the wet clothes off of him and dabbed at his private parts with a damp cloth.

Hearing a noise, she turned her head. "Mr. Luthor. Give us a moment, please, would you?"

"Nonsense. I want to see my son." His daddy swept in like an angry thundercloud.

The nurse frowned, but didn't stop wrestling the briefs up his naked legs.

"He wet the bed?"

"He's a very sick little boy, Mr. Luthor," she said, not looking at his father this time. She was putting his Transformers pajama pants on him, which was the first nice thing to happen at all. They were soft. They felt like the sheets on Mommy's bed.

"I beg your pardon. He's almost seven years old; he's not an infant."

She rolled back the blankets and pulled the top sheet loose. "Of course, sir."

"Son, I want you to get well fast, and that's an order." Lionel turned back to the nurse, who was shaking open a fresh sheet. "Why is he so scrawny? What is he being fed?"

"Sir, he's a little small for his age, but still well within average."

"Do not talk back to me, miss. No son of mine is merely _average_, is that clear?" Daddy glared at her and then marched out, his big black coat puffing out behind him. "I'm going to have a word with his team of doctors."

She looked down at him, and took a deep breath before tucking the covers back around his legs. "You going to be okay, Alexander?" He could see that she was angry and scared. Another tear slipped down his cheek. "I know, baby," she said, stroking his hair. "It's tough, but you be brave, and it'll all turn out just fine."

  


* * *

Then she was gone and it was dark and there was shouting.

_Lillian, you're a wreck. _

_You can't stop me from seeing him! _

_You're not rational. How much valium did you take? _

_Don't patronize me, Lionel. _

_I'm not patronizing you. I'm worried about your health. His condition is making you worse. _

_I don't care. _

_Lily, he's killing you. _

_Don't blame him! He's half yours—you should treat him better. _

_I am not going to let that boy be the death of you. Now, you are leaving tonight, understand? The Mediterranean will do you good, and you'll be seeing the best cardiologists in the world. _

_It's got a mind of its own, Lionel. You can't just force it into remission because it's inconvenient. It doesn't work that way. _

_Worrying over the boy is going to kill you. _

_I don't want to leave him. _

_Pamela will be here. I'll be in Gotham City. He'll be fine_.

Alexander couldn't hear what she'd said in reply.

  


* * *

Lex woke in his bed shouting for his mother. His face was wet. She was...she was gone. He rolled over and hugged the other pillow close. He wanted his mom. He wanted his Pamela. Nothing could ever make this hurt go away...and now there it was, clear as daylight. He remembered Pamela talking years ago about a hospital stay for the asthma. Apparently, he'd been so afraid, they'd had to sedate him. He hadn't remembered it at all...until now.

After that, it had been mostly just the two of them for a long time. His mom didn't have the energy, especially after...Julian. And then it was just him, a new boarding school, and random, humiliating, paternal invasions. Was a mother really too much to ask for? Lex pressed his face into the pillow and willed the tears away. It was like choking. It was like spiking a vein, when your throat closed up around your tongue and everything froze, just before you melted into jetting flame.

God he wanted a hit. Or just a long, slow draw from a pipe. Overdose was too easy when you shot, especially after you'd been clean awhile. Lex had learned that the hard way. And, again, this was what relapse was all about. He'd done it too many times already, and damn it he was smarter than this. First time he ever met that bastard Dominic was in the ER his sophomore year in college. Sent by Lionel to spin the press, clean up his mess, youth and excess, blah blah blah—painting him like a naughty ten-year-old and sneering all the way. Asshole.

As if he hadn't spent all of prep school on the rave scene. As if a university's worth of temptation weren't enough all by itself. He'd had a bad day in psych class (why no, professor, I _don't_ want to tell the entire class about losing most of my family before my thirteenth birthday), a fight with a girl over a guy, a fight with the guy over the girl, an especially brutal call from his father, and then, a party...just to take the edge off, right? At least someone had noticed when he'd stopped breathing.

Excuses. He'd known better. He always knew better, but that didn't make it all right, did it? It didn't take the hurt away.

He lay there for a while, imagining the sound of the ocean surf surging around his big blue bed, and told himself it didn't matter. It was just another nightmare amongst all the rest. It was nothing he hadn't seen before in some shape or form, like so many other echoes of the things he'd lost. After a while, Lex rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom to use the toilet. The floor was cold and made him shiver. Then he went to the sink to wash his hands and clean the morning foulness from his mouth.

When Lex looked up, his breath caught in his throat, and he gripped the beveled edge of the counter hard to stay upright. In the mirror, Louis crouched on the counter, pissing into the sink. Louis held Lex's gaping stare until he finished, shook the last drops free, and then winked at him.

"It's never going to be okay, Lex." Louis' eyes blazed blue fire as he lifted his dick, not putting it away. "You realize that. Right?"

  


* * *

"No! I'm not going to repeat myself again!" Lex still sat on the bathroom floor in his pajamas. He'd been here a while, trying to get Louis to make some sort of sense. If he were here, then...that didn't...he couldn't deal with this.

Thomas tugged at his arm. "Sir, we have to get you ready to leave. The helicopter leaves at eleven."

"No!" Lex shook him off. "I'm not going. Call him and tell him that." Louis was screaming at him about sucking cock, wanting to watch. Thomas was ignoring direct orders. Splitting his attention like this made Lex's head hurt.

"Sir, at least let's get you in the shower, so you can get cleaned up."

"What, yesterday wasn't enough for you?"

Louis laughed. Thomas glowered. "Mr. Luthor, you're making my job very difficult."

Lex smirked. "If you're not happy with our little arrangement, don't let me stop you."

"Sex is not part of my job and you know it," Thomas answered with icy calm. "I don't mind when it happens, but you know it's not what I'm here for."

"Well, it's good to know you don't consider yourself a whore, now isn't it?"

"Do you consider yourself a trick?"

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"I'm trying to get you showered, dressed, and out the door to face your father."

Finally Louis had shut up. Lex looked at Thomas, trying to understand what had gotten into his butler. "You have no idea...."

"Sir?"

"I bet you're spying for him, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Get out."

"Sir—"

"Get the hell out. Now!"

Thomas went, leaving him alone in his sea of pretty stone. Lex could hear people in his bedroom. He was still on the floor, playing with the knap of the bathroom rug. He liked it in here, at least as long as he wasn't looking in the mirror, where he knew Louis prowled, watching, plundering the drawers and cabinets for hidden treasure.

At least he was quiet now. The first hour had been a loud rant about how much he really wanted to come through the mirror to show Lex, in graphic detail, just how much he'd missed him.

For Lex, the marble tile was nice, cool to the touch, clean. Clean was good. Clean was very good. Nothing bad could happen when it was clean. Outside was a mess, and he was too tired to deal with it right now. His father was like that. Always a mess. Always dripping blood or sweat or semen on the nice clean tile. Why did Dad always have to smear everything he touched? Louis was like that, too.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "Lex? Can I come in?"

Shit. Somebody had called Claire.

The door pushed open. "Hi," she said, looking around.

"Who called you?"

"Your secretary."

"My...." He looked at her sharply. "Explain."

"Thomas and Linda were concerned, so they called Gwen at home this morning. She called me. And no, no one contacted your father."

"Really?" Lex needed a moment to process that.

"Not yet, though I might if it seems necessary. Now what's going on?"

"But I told Thomas to call him and cancel. You can't call him, though. No. Absolutely not."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Lex...."

"Don't talk to me like I'm crazy, Claire. I know the score. I know what you charge for your corporate retainer, I know how much your mortgage is, and I don't want to hear about your ethical obligations. Not today." Lex smiled at her sweetly. "Today's a _holiday_."

She frowned. "How long have you been shaking, Lex?"

He looked down, noticing for the first time that the flutter he'd imagined in his lungs was real motion. His entire body was trembling. "Go away." He shook his head decisively, then concentrated deeply to make it stop. "You can't fix it."

"Why not? How do you know what I can't fix?"

"Because no one can." Now his eyes wouldn't stop blinking, so he bit down on the inside of his cheek and squinted hard at her knees.

"Who told you that?"

"That's privileged information," he enunciated. "Now make Thomas call him. Not you. I'm not going."

"Okay, Lex. I'll do that. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

Louis growled from the mirror. "Lex, what are you _doing_?"

Lex let out a relieved sigh, grateful that he was still inside the mirror. Lex was going to stay in here to make sure Louis didn't get out, because knowing him, he'd find a way. And if he got out, he would make a mess. A much bigger mess than Dad, even. And that would be bad. But if Louis found Dad, that would be—

Lex found himself giggling. "Hey! You know what today is?" He wagged his head at Louis.

"What?"

"It's _Thanksgiving_! Tell me what you're going to give thanks for!" Lex was leaning against the opposite wall. He stared up at the mirror, grinning widely.

"That's weak, Lex."

"Tell me! You have to be thankful for something."

"Well, actually," Louis said, "Yeah, I am. I'm thankful your bitch of a wife isn't here. Way to go on that one, guy."

Lex felt his stomach drop through the floor. "Shut up!" he snarled. How the hell did Louis know about the plane? The other plane.

"What? Did I hit a nerve?"

Lex scrambled to snatch a bar of soap from the second vanity on his side of the room. "Shut the fuck up!!" It smacked the mirror in line with Louis' nose and skittered across the floor.

"Careful, Lex. You wouldn't want them to see you lose it. But maybe they'd understand...." Louis gave him a slow, open-mouthed sneer. "Doesn't _everyone_ know she was doing your dad?"

"Shut _up_!" He was on his feet, screaming, flying at him.

"Funny how history repeats itself. Isn't it, Lex?" The shards broke his grin into a thousand pieces.

Louis was cackling and Thomas was holding him, pinning him back, and Linda was wrapping a wet towel around his bleeding fist and Claire was, ow, Claire was, Claire— "Stop! No drugs! Claire! No drugs! You know what I told you! I told you. I can't handle...handle the m-medication."

The world rippled as she pulled the syringe free of his arm.

That bitch. He'd said no.

He'd screamed no. No.

She didn't understand.

And she'd hit him with good shit, too, he realized. And floated silently away.


End file.
